Page 140 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

His jaw opens and he stumbles backward, freeing me.

I stumble back, watching the obscene beast teetering in front of me.

Blood gushes from a dozen wounds across his chest – each three inches deep. That’s as far as I could plunge the blade of my Orb-Knife.

But then, I struck true – and slit his throat wide open.

As I stand there and watch, the Bullfrog who skewered my best friend stumbles backward…

…and this time, I don’t hesitate. I don’t freeze.

The old me rises up triumphantly, and I dive forward – kicking the giant Bullfrog back with both feet.

The towering monstrosity loses his balance and falls backward with a thunderous splash. I mount him, clambering across his chest, jabbing the tiny Orb-Blade into his eyes again and again.

He gurgles in rage and agony, trying to grab me.

“Ling!” I scream out. “Ling! Ling!”

I scream out her name over and over, each time jabbing that blade down into Gab’nah’s face. His ugly green countenance is ripped open, until his brains spill from his eye sockets and his webbed hands finally fall limply at his side.

Then, I’m thrown off the fucker – as another Bullfrog knocks into me, one of his arms missing and the stump spewing blood.

Another hand grabs me, and I turn to stab it…

…until I recognize Marcel standing there, his aura like stone in my mind.

We both turn and look up the steps.

Lord Oblog is alive up there – his Sentinels standing around him. They’re a wall of silver and metal, blocking our view.

They’ve stopped firing, though. Lord Oblog doesn’t care about killing the Aurelians – he just wants to be protected as he sends wave after wave of Bullfrogs and Toads charging forward.

Each one dies at the whirling Orb-Blades of my triad.

I sense that they have not gone unscathed either, and my eyes confirm it. To my right, Marcel is bleeding - but his aura reveals no pain.

“Where’s Tessa!” I demand.

“Safe!” He booms back, and then scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder, rushing me out of the throne room.

His huge feet splash through the water as he carries me away from the chaos. The doors close behind us. Alarm bells ring out in my ears as we thunder through the corridors toward the ship’s hanger bay.

“No!” I sense his plan. “Oblog will send troops there!”

Oblog’s been two steps ahead of us the entire time. My triad only surprised him by taking a suicidal risk, and only because I made the unthinkable decision to sever my own finger and give them my position.

Theirs was a last-ditch plan – to Orb-Shift into a fast-moving mothership. The odds must have been ten-thousand to one, and if the Aurelians had shifted even five feet further to the right, they might have ended up inside the bulkheads of this ship, crushed to death.

Their Reaver is a smoking ruin.

Which means it’s no way out – not anymore.

They managed to beat the odds to get in – but now, we have no means to escape. The rational thing is to go to the hanger and steal a ship. Oblog will predict it.

“Where?”

Marcel is in the blood of battle, but even in his rage, he’s askingme– trusting the vision and insight I’ve demonstrated that has led us here.

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